


Whisp and the Willow Tree

by quietescapist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Animagus Severus Snape, Artist Harry Potter, Blasphemy, Boggarts, Dancing and Singing, Diary/Journal, Do not repost anywhere, Fluff, Gift Giving, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Raises Teddy Lupin, Headmaster Severus Snape, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Jealous Severus Snape, Letters, Light Angst, M/M, Muggle Studies, Oblivious Harry Potter, Out of Character Severus Snape, Panic Attacks, Pining Severus Snape, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Professor Harry Potter, Protective Severus Snape, Rating May Change, Romance, Slash, Slow Burn, Supportive Hermione Granger, Supportive Ron Weasley, Swearing, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24324172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietescapist/pseuds/quietescapist
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry and his friends clear Snape's name but Harry keeps his distance from his ex-professor. Snape feels slighted, and after upsetting Harry he is forced to watch from the sidelines as the boy finishes his education.Many years later, Harry returns to Hogwarts (with Teddy and a daughter in tow) to revitalise the Muggle Studies curriculum. As Headmaster Snape falls harder in love with the oblivious Professor Potter, the two wizards must navigate a burgeoning friendship, jealousy and more than a few misunderstandings.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Severus Snape, Harry Potter/Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry Potter/Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape
Comments: 68
Kudos: 319





	1. Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:
> 
> 1) If you want an original take on Snarry then please look elsewhere. This fic will include all the best tropes, including but not limited to Snape finding out about the Dursleys, extravagant gift giving (what else is Harry supposed to do with a dead basilisk?), and Harry demonstrating musical and artistic talent.
> 
> 2) There will be NO character bashing. I love the Golden Trio’s friendship and they'll have lots of fun together.
> 
> 3) The chapters will be very short. I’m updating this fic in short bursts purely so my mental health doesn’t suffer.
> 
> Disclaimer:
> 
> This is a work of fanfiction inspired by the Harry Potter books which are written by J.K. Rowling. I have ‘borrowed’ the books' characters and story-lines to create my own story. I don’t earn any money from this and only hope to bring joy to Snarry shippers within the HP fandom. I'm not sure whether Rowling herself would approve of Snarry.

Harry woke with a start. He was lying on his bed in his dormitory and could sense someone watching him.

‘Oh, Harry!’ Hermione’s squeaky voice and bushy hair leapt from a dark corner of the room. ‘Everyone’s been so worried about you!’

Harry squinted up at his friend who had rushed forward and plonked herself on his duvet. She began to ramble, saying, 'Of course, Madam Pomfrey insisted on healing your injuries while you slept, not that I couldn't have done that myself as they were only superficial wounds. I think she wanted to thank you, in her own way.' Hermione's solemn tone was lost on Harry who was concentrating on stretching his legs and wriggling his toes. He put on his glasses when Hermione summoned them and propped himself on his elbows. Now everything was in focus he noticed that Hermione's dark skin was clear of cuts and bruises and her eyes were brighter than he'd seen in months.

‘How long have I been here?’ Harry asked in trepidation. The last things he remembered doing were showering, pulling on his pyjamas and gulping down some water before succumbing to sleep. He had been exhausted after the battle but desperate to see his skin underneath all the blood and filth. As clearly as he remembered his frantic shower and subsequent black out, he had no idea if he had since moved from his bed or indeed what time it was now. There wasn’t much light coming through the dormitory's windows but he could hear birdsong. Somewhere at the back of his mind, he wondered whether Fawkes would ever return to Hogwarts even though Dumbledore was gone.

‘Erm...' Hermione hesitated before answering. 'It’s been around forty-eight hours.’

'What?' Harry croaked, all thoughts of phoenixes forgotten. He jerked into a sitting position, ignoring how his back protested the sudden movement.

‘It’s okay!' Hermione hastily continued. 'Nobody needed you for anything. Madam Pomfrey said you were magically exhausted.’ She grimaced. ‘We all were... You're one of the last to recover.’ She looked critically at his face and added, ‘You need some water, and you should probably eat something. I doubt you’ll be able to stand up, otherwise.'

'I... do feel a bit on the weak side,' mumbled Harry, who was still reeling at the fact he'd casually abandoned his friends so soon after dying for them. And for two whole days, no less. He wasn't even hurt!

'Kreacher?’ Hermione called the house-elf who appeared with a crack by her feet. Kreacher, wide-eyed, peered up at Harry who noticed that Regulus' locket still rested on the house-elf's skinny chest. He was glad Kreacher hadn't misplaced the locket during his fierce defense of the castle.

‘Hello, Kreacher,' Hermione gently addressed the house-elf. 'If you’re not too busy, Harry is ready for some refreshment. The food better be light, though. You know how he tends to gobble his meals.’

Harry glared at this brusque assessment of his manners but his rumbling stomach somewhat mitigated the effect. He magnanimously swallowed his retort about house-elf rights when Kreacher conjured a plate of golden, buttered toast and a cold glass of water. Admiring the serving tray Kreacher arranged on his duvet, which was apparently charmed so nothing could spill, Harry realised that, if Hermione was to be believed, he hadn’t got up to use the loo in a suspiciously long time. He didn’t feel like going, either. Blushing, he glanced at Hermione. The ‘bladder emptying’ spell didn’t work unless it was cast on an unconscious individual. It would seem that Hermione had not dismissed the spell's incantation as too embarrassing to commit to memory.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, shall I?' Hermione suddenly announced. 'Come down to the common room after you've freshened up. Ron'll be there too.’ Before leaving, Hermione thanked Kreacher for his help. Still staring at Harry, the house-elf mumbled something vaguely polite in response.

Not sure what to say to Kreacher, Harry avoided the problem by gulping down his water and digging into the hot pile of toast. He tried not to ‘gobble’ but found it was difficult to eat normally at all when he knew he was being gawked at. Gingerly peeking over the bed, he saw that Kreacher’s eyes were suspiciously wet and his crooked mouth was trembling. ‘Kreacher,’ Harry began, ‘are you-?’

‘Is good to have you ‘wake, Master Harry. You is brave and good. And nows you must eat.’ Before Harry could reply, Kreacher nodded once and vanished with a loud pop, causing the dust bunnies under Harry's bed to scatter in alarm.

Touched by Kreacher's unexpected praise, Harry smiled down at his plate of toast. ‘It's good to see you too, Kreacher,’ he whispered to the empty room, hoping the house-elf would hear him, 'and you were really brave as well.' His smile and stomach abruptly dropped when the thought of brave house-elves reminded him of Dobby.

Dobby's little form wrapped in a sheet under the earth... The broken bodies of Remus and Tonks… What would become of Teddy...?

Fred!

Harry’s shoulders tensed with the realisation that people had died and he was in bed being a lazy prat. He wondered when the tears would come. The losses didn't feel real, right now. Shivering at the echo of a hoarse voice telling him he had his mother's eyes, he tried to distract himself. What did the castle look like? How many people would still be here? The term hadn’t officially ended, but he doubted much teaching would be going on in the upcoming weeks. He felt a swooping, aching longing for his childhood. Hogwarts had once seemed so big. Indestructible.

How long would it take for the castle to reopen? He hoped he’d be able to come back for another year. He needed to take his N.E.W.T.s, after all. Surely the professors would make sure that every student had that option. He smiled despite himself. Hermione would flip her lid if she wasn't allowed back, and Harry, albeit never the studious sort, knew he would be right behind her. He hadn't finished with Hogwarts just yet.

He relaxed against the pillows again, picturing Ron and Hermione as he took careful bites of toast. What would they be bickering about, downstairs? They would be arguing about something, he was quite sure of that. He had come to the realisation, a few years ago, that Ron and Hermione's squabbling was an expression of how comfortable they were with each other. On the tail of that conclusion had come the epiphany that, by bickering in-front of Harry, his friends were subconsciously demonstrating how comfortable they were around him, too.

He felt that he often took his friends for granted, accustomed as he was to them sticking beside him through everything. Okay, they had briefly pulled away from him at times, and he from them, but when it counted the trio had always snapped back into their familiar circle like a stubborn elastic band. Why had he never told them how important they were to him? True, their friendship was founded on actions rather than words. It was strange to remember how they had initially bonded over knocking out a mountain troll, unaware that danger would enshroud them from that point on like a second invisibility cloak. What would he have done if Ron or Hermione hadn’t survived the final battle? He would have blamed himself, for sure, and cursed that troll for existing. Conversely, he knew he'd have clung to the school and refused to abandon his memories. Perhaps sought out the stone in the forest.

And even with his best friends alive and happy, he didn’t want to say goodbye to Hogwarts. The castle would always be his home. He was relieved to understand, deep down where it mattered, Voldemort’s foul intrusion hadn’t damaged his bond with the school.


	2. Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any favourite Snarry tropes you'd like to see later on in this story, let me know. :)

Ron and Hermione were not bickering. Harry had somehow not anticipated that Ron might be more subdued than usual. Cursing himself for becoming the self-obsessed brat of Snape’s imagination, he cautiously approached his friends in the common room. Ron was sitting cross-legged on the worn maroon rug that lay in front of the Gryffindor fireplace, staring at the empty hearth with a grim, pensive expression. Hermione was curled next to her boyfriend and stroking his arm. Harry didn’t like to interrupt, but Hermione had invited him to join them. What else could he do?

He cleared his throat, making his friends jump. It had been the right decision, however, as Ron’s face lit up upon seeing Harry and, within seconds, he had bounded over and clapped Harry on the shoulder, exclaiming, ‘Blimey, mate, it’s great to see you up and about! We were worried about you!’

Harry was surprised that Ron could so easily brush aside his grief for his sake and found he had to re-clear his throat to pull himself together. ‘It’s great to see you too, Ron.’ He gave Ron’s shoulder a light punch while taking in his friends’ smiling faces. This was what mattered. This was why he'd suffered through everything. Deciding it was now or never, he said, ‘I don’t mean to get all mushy on you guys, but you should know...' He drew a shaking hand through his hair. 'I love you both to pieces.’

Ron blinked at the unexpected sentiment, but a slack-jawed Hermione let out what sounded embarrassingly like a whimper and pulled Harry into a hug. ‘Oh, Harry, we love you too, you idiot! You know we do.’ Harry guessed he really had been closed off from his friends, over the years, for them to react this strongly.

‘Oi, I can speak for myself!’ Ron suddenly interjected, recovering from his shock and gently untangling Hermione from Harry. Pulling Harry into a rough hug of his own, Ron mumbled over his head, ‘I can’t believe you sacrificed your life like that, mate.’ Ron paused in consideration. ‘Well, I s’pose I can believe it, you being you. This world doesn’t deserve you.’ Just as Harry’s eyes began to sting, Ron pulled away. Throwing an arm around Hermione’s shoulders, Ron struck up a more casual tone as he reasoned, ‘Not like it’s goodbye or anything, mate, you’re stuck with us for life now. It’s somewhere in the fine print of spending a year camping together.’

Hermione giggled at this and Harry grinned. ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever, Ron.’ Harry pulled a mock-disgusted expression before adding, ‘As long as that doesn’t extend to the bedroom. No offence.’ Lurching to one side to avoid Ron’s foot, he turned to the blushing Hermione and asked, ‘So, what’ve I missed? Where is everyone?’

Hermione straightened her posture, clearly delighted to be asked for information. 'Everyone's leaving,' she explained. 'There's only a few of us left in the castle...' The end of her sentence trailed off, her eyes got wider and, inexplicably, she gasped. Before either Harry or Ron could ask what was wrong, Hermione had yanked them over to the portrait hole.

‘Harry,' she commanded, 'we have to go to the hospital wing, right now. I completely forgot you wouldn’t know!' Clambering into the corridor and tugging her friends after her, she fretted, 'This is going to be such a shock. I don’t know how you feel about him. Oh, but you looked so devastated when he... And now...’

Amused and unable to process the meaning of Hermione’s panicked words, Harry turned to exchange an exasperated expression with Ron. He got the shock of his life when Ron just looked at him sadly, his face as pale and thoughtful as it had been earlier. Worried, he allowed himself to be steered down corridors and flights of stairs. What had Hermione said? A shock. Something about a ‘him’. Someone he had interacted with recently.

The trio strode past piles of rubble and other debris Harry couldn’t identify. Every now and then they were forced to step over a brown stain, and each time this happened Harry was reminded of bright red bubbling from a torn throat. Hot blood had gushed against his hand as he’d tried… As he’d tried… Hang on. Wasn’t Snape a ‘him’? He jolted to a stop, causing Ron to crash into his back with a curse and Hermione, who still had hold of his jumper, to stumble over her feet.

Dizzy and ignoring Ron's spluttering, Harry took a deep breath. Somehow, despite his passing thoughts of the man, it had slipped Harry's mind to ask whether Snape's body had been retrieved from the shack. The momentary guilt inspired by this thought, however, was being strangled by a different and stupefying possibility. Warily, he looked into Hermione’s concerned eyes and prepared to ask the impossible.

‘Hermione, is Snape alive?’


	3. Advocate

Early morning sunshine streamed onto the bed occupied by Severus Snape, cheerfully in defiance of the man’s harsh features and inky black hair. Harry wondered why the bed’s curtain wasn’t drawn. Madam Pomfrey must know how Snape coveted privacy, but Harry supposed the matron might be eager to keep a watchful eye on the sleeping professor. Harry could understand; he was transfixed by his former enemy’s gently rising and falling chest. Said chest was covered by a white duvet that seemed entirely the wrong colour for a man like Snape. Nevertheless, drowning in the quiet hospital wing, Snape seemed maddeningly human. Fragile, even.

Heavy bandages encased the man’s neck, but no blood was seeping through and Pomfrey had assured Harry, before patting his cheek and escaping to her office, that Snape would make a full recovery. It was astonishing. Impossible. Harry had been sure the man had died while looking hungrily into his eyes.

Ron and Hermione were fluttering nearby, the two of them tripping over each other in their attempts to explain. Harry caught fragments.

‘… prepared for Nagini…’

‘... Dippy the house-elf…’

‘… Dumbledore’s memories…’

‘… Kingsley's the new Minister…’

‘… will be moved to St. Mungo’s…’

‘… just needs to sleep, mate, like you did...’

But he was nothing like Snape. How could Harry, albeit the archetypal Gryffindor, ever hope to be so brave?

‘Harry! Just the man I was hoping to see.’ A booming voice roused Harry from his trance. He turned to see the tall and confident Kingsley striding towards him and felt a rush of relief. He could think of nobody better suited to steering the magical community into peacetime.

‘Minister,’ Harry gave a respectful nod, ‘congratulations. Ron and Hermione just told me. You’re no doubt the leader we need right now.’

Kingsley beamed. ‘Thank you, Harry, that means a lot coming from you. And no stuffy formalities – you must continue to call me Kingsley. That goes for all three of you,’ Kingsley added as he acknowledged Ron and Hermione.

After his friends exchanged greetings with Kingsley, Harry said, ‘I've heard Hogwarts is evacuating.’

‘That is correct.’ Kingsley paused. ‘The reason I’m here is I need your help. In fact, Severus rather needs your help as well.’ Harry’s stomach lurched.

‘I thought you’d seen Dumbledore’s evidence?’

Kingsley looked surprised and hurried to explain. ‘Oh no, Harry, you misunderstand me. The Wizengamot has indeed witnessed and verified Albus’ memories. Severus has been acquitted of Albus’ murder. Additionally, he is now legally recognised as an ex-spy who worked against You-Know-Who; any crimes he committed were necessary to maintain this unique role, so Severus is a free man.’ Kingsley probably expected Harry to respond to this information, but he could only stare at the Minister in shock, amazed at the speed with which the wizarding world was working.

After smiling at Harry's dumbfounded expression, Kingsley resumed speaking. ‘What I’m truly worried about is the spread of misinformation. The public is craving news about how the war was won, and people will need persuading that Severus had anything to do with it. He is not a liked man, as you well know.’ Understatement of the decade, Harry thought to himself. ‘We need to give the British public as much information as we can about how You-Know-Who was defeated, and simultaneously bolster Severus’ reputation so he is able to cultivate a fulfilling life. After all, what good is freedom if nobody lets you enjoy it?’

‘That’s a good point,’ Hermione agreed with Kingsley. ‘Are you suggesting Harry gives a statement of some kind?’

Kingsley smirked. ‘Oh, I’m thinking much bigger than a statement. I would like for the three of you, the ‘Golden Trio’ as some newspapers are calling you these days- ’ Kingsley winked in response to Hermione’s disbelieving snort- ‘to tell the entire story. The story of how You-Know-Who was defeated, including Severus’ involvement and anything else you think should be general knowledge. I will of course contribute my own explanation of the Wizengamot’s decision regarding Severus.’

Kingsley excitedly rubbed his hands together before continuing. ‘We must consider this an opportunity to build a man’s reputation, as well as a chance to ensure history books tell your story right.’ Harry grimaced at that, which Kingsley apparently noticed. ‘Harry, these events will go down in history whether you like it or not, so don’t you think it makes sense to control the original report?’

Harry looked to his friends. Hermione was beaming and eagerly nodding. Ron didn't look quite so enthusiastic, but Harry sensed that Ron knew as well as he did that this was the sensible way to proceed. But Harry needed to get a few things straight. ‘Kingsley,’ he began in his most adult-sounding voice, ‘we can’t talk about everything that happened. For one, that will involve incriminating ourselves and others – you know as well as I do that laws had to be broken to win this thing.'

Ron, who had been nodding along to Harry's words, interrupted to exclaim, 'Blimey! Merlin knows what Gringotts is going to do to us!'

'Exactly,' Harry agreed. 'Secondly, the reason Voldemort- ' Ron winced rather violently- 'was as strong as he was needs to be kept under wraps. We can’t have that information getting into the wrong hands.’

While Kingsley was digesting this, Harry shot Ron a faintly apologetic look. Truthfully, he wasn't sorry. Even during the war when Voldemort's name had been tabooed, Harry had struggled to censor his speech. Now he was free to say what he liked, and he'd always disapproved of the reverence implied by 'You-Know-Who'. Mocking Voldemort with the name 'Tom' wasn't all that satisfying, either, now the bloke wasn't alive to hear the taunt. Besides, saying 'Tom' tended to confuse people who weren't in the know.

Kingsley stared at Harry thoughtfully before nodding his head. ‘I agree with those conditions, Harry. I, for one, have been informed that the three of you were hunting for objects needed to engender You-Know-Who’s downfall, but I do not know what those objects were or what magic they utilised. Perhaps something of this nature is a vague enough description for the official record.’ Kingsley paused. ‘Secondly, you should know that any illegalities you committed 'to win this thing' as you put it, if they do come to light, will most likely be dismissed by the Wizengamot now we’ve set a precedent with Severus’ own trial.’

‘Wicked!’ exclaimed Ron. Harry and Hermione exchanged relieved looks. They had shattered a considerable number of laws, sometimes without thinking, in their haste to destroy Voldemort.

‘Indeed.’ Kingsley took a deep breath. ‘Regardless, you may of course gloss over as many details as you deem necessary. I trust your judgement and do not want you to try incriminating anyone, least of all yourselves. All I request from you is enough of the truth to sate the public’s curiosity.’ Resolve was firming on Ron’s face and Hermione's eyes were flashing with determination.

‘We can do that,’ Harry decided, thankful he'd got so much sleep before hearing about this daunting task. Harry wasn't exactly bad with words, but if he and his friends had to convince everyone that the foreboding bat of the dungeons was a decent human being, then Hermione would have to start by guiding himself and Ron through the basics of public relations; Hermione had been the brain-box behind Harry's fifth-year Quibbler interview.

Inwardly chastising, Harry firmly reminded himself that Ron would do just fine without Hermione's help - it was easy to forget that Ron had an intuitively strategic mind. Harry again recalled why the three of them made a good team. With Hermione's book smarts, Ron's straight-thinking, and Harry's reckless passion, not to mention the 'golden' image the trio apparently made together, if they wanted they could probably convince the majority of the wizarding world (excluding Luna) that Wrackspurts were the key to Voldemort's undoing. Perhaps giving Snape's image a makeover wouldn't be so difficult.

‘Excellent,’ said Kingsley, clapping his hands together and startling Harry. ‘This proposed interview, for want of a better word, will be recorded for the wireless and published as a transcript in the Daily Prophet.' Hermione cringed, but Kingsley gently informed her that, 'The Prophet has the widest readership, but rest assured it will also be undergoing many policy and staffing changes in the upcoming days, and that has nothing to do with the Ministry. It's not been long since You-Know-Who fell, but I can already see wizards and witches everywhere looking long and hard at this Brave New World in which they've awoken. Give it a month or two, and the Prophet's journalism might well be unrecognisable. You should feel honoured, Hermione, to be ushering in this change.' Hermione gradually brightened while listening to Kingsley, and Harry could only envy the Minister's grasp of persuasive rhetoric. Did he even really need their help with all the propaganda stuff?

Kingsley continued, 'The interview will be well archived by the Ministry and I suspect heavily quoted in upcoming publications about the war. I intend for every wizard and witch in Britain to have at least read or heard the truth. It is up to them whether they believe it, but I rather think they will when it comes straight from the mouths of their Golden Trio.’ Harry's heart warmed upon hearing confirmation that strangers might recognise the strength and validity of his friendship with Ron and Hermione. Resisting the urge to puff out his chest, he was sure he felt more proud now than Voldemort had when surrounded by hidden and intact horcruxes.

Spinning abruptly to pin Snape with a final stare, he resolved to put his all into this interview. He wished to atone for his own carelessness with the man's life, and ensure the professor woke to a world brimming with potential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Snape will put on his thinking cap and ponder the phenomenon that is Harry James Potter.


	4. Anticipation

Severus Snape stared into space as May sunshine filled his private room in St. Mungo’s. The word ‘recovery’ didn’t absolutely imply he had to lie in bed all day, especially as he was due to be discharged tomorrow, so instead he sat on his chair while the open Daily Prophet lay in pride of place on his hospital bed. Witches and wizards across Britain would be glued to this morning’s Prophet, but he deemed it necessary to take regular breaks from reading and re-reading the detailed article entitled ‘How the War Was Won’.

The 'article' in question filled the entire newspaper. Kingsley and Minerva had visited him, yesterday, to warn him about it. Honestly, Minerva had in fact been there to do a fair bit of crying but he appreciated the sentiment. When Minerva had temporarily regained her composure, Kingsley had informed him that although the Ministry believed the Golden Trio’s interview would be positively received, Severus should lie low for a few days. Time would be required for the facts of an ex-Death Eater's true allegiance to settle in the minds of the general public.

Severus wasn’t perturbed by this instruction: his plan was to rest at his home on Spinner’s End, his only property, from tomorrow and quietly rethink his existence. None of the damage done to him by Nagini had stuck, thanks to his own forethought and the impressive healing magic employed by Dippy the house-elf, so he wasn’t in any pain (but under torture he might admit to feeling... wobbly). Ideally, he would use some of the time at home to make a dent in that pile of books he’d never had time to read.

No, he didn’t mind ‘lying low’ for a little while.

What he did mind, rather strongly, was the fluttering in his stomach and warmth in his chest. Was this pride he survived the Dark Lord? Was it delight at being officially pardoned and having his hard work acknowledged? Was it a harmless symptom of snake venom, or... something more sinister? Fragments of the Golden Trio's interview flitted through his consciousness, in particular Harry's closing remarks.

‘… lifetime of atonement… instrumental in establishing the peace we are currently enjoying… Dumbledore’s trust was absolute… regret my own lack of faith… treat him with respect… Severus Snape is the bravest man I know…’

Harry hadn’t dwelled long on Severus’ love for Lily or mentioned anything of Severus’ unhappy childhood, instead allowing the wizarding public to read between the lines. To have been spared humiliation in this way and simultaneously praised within an inch of his life… Severus wasn’t sure how to contain the gratitude and confusion bubbling inside him. And it wasn’t just Harry’s powerful words or Kingsley’s official statement on behalf of the Wizengamot for which he was grateful. Even Longbottom and the Weasley girl had contributed a sentence or two, describing how they now realised that Headmaster Snape had protected his students to the best of his ability and every decision had set him between a rock and hard place.

Of course, Severus didn't exclusively focus on the words celebrating his wartime fortitude. (He wasn't that egotistical.) Indeed, he was very interested to read about how the Golden Trio’s perilous journey had unfolded away from Hogwarts. Some of it was implausible, it must be said, but then he had the dubious honour of having witnessed the trio's everyday antics while they were still gawky students ensconced at Hogwarts. He supposed it made sense that the teenagers' misadventures had become even crazier once they were shunted into the real world. Especially given the state the real world had been in at the time.

Regardless of his amusement at these escapades, his thoughts repeatedly fell away from contemplating the Golden Trio, and instead crash-landed on the explosive subject of Harry Potter the Individual... Harry Potter the Impossible.

The black and white picture of the boy on the front page of the paper was... compelling. (Unlike the outdated photo of himself, which Kingsley had chosen for how 'powerful' Severus reportedly looked in his teaching robes. Severus had mused that 'powerful' might be code for 'repulsively unapproachable' but kept quiet.)

Weasley and Granger stood next to Harry, in the photo, their arms looped around the boy's waist, and Severus couldn't help but feel a little envious. It was a very honest photo of Harry. The boy didn't look like your typical 'hero', thin and small as he was with untidy hair and those round glasses which made him look misleadingly innocent. And of course, Harry was beaming at the camera, his smile practically splitting his face in two. He wasn't sure how much Harry had to smile about, but he could tell it was a genuine grin. Perhaps the boy was overcome with the same relief Severus felt. Relief from all that darkness which had plagued them for an eternity.

Where was the boy, now? Hogwarts had been evacuated but of course Harry had options. The Burrow, perhaps. Grimmauld Place. Maybe Privet Drive. He hazily remembered what he'd once seen via Legilimency: glimpses of the brat's Muggle home-life. It hadn’t looked too bad. He recalled a dog chasing Harry up a tree and the boy getting hit by his cousin. Nothing too traumatic. Nevertheless, he suspected that Harry would decide to live within wizarding society. Petunia as a child had been a nasty piece of work and he doubted such a personality improved with age.

He himself had been rather nasty to Harry over the years. How on earth had the boy so readily forgiven this cruelty? He believed that most of his actions had been justifiable, but did Harry really think so? Did his status as a spy truly change things in the boy’s mind?

Surely the brat had questions for him. At the very least, he would be able to tell the boy stories about Lily. Harry might even see him as a father figure... (The ultimate revenge on Potter and Black.) Somewhat disturbingly, he felt the sweetest reward would be for Harry to direct a blinding smile at him for a change. He had witnessed Harry’s smile many times, over the years, but whenever the boy looked directly at him the smile would harden into an angry line. He realised, with a sinking feeling, that he was craving Harry’s smile more than tomorrow's freedom from mediwizards.

He had never hated Harry. In fact, after he had come to terms with Harry’s resemblance to James, he’d rather admired the idiot boy throughout his years at Hogwarts. Half-baked exploits and all.

When would Harry visit him?

He found himself glancing at the door, as if expecting Harry to rush in that second, all awkward hellos and clumsy hands and feet. Perhaps the boy would wait until Severus was sequestered at Spinner’s End. Did Harry know where he lived? The brat already knew so much about him, after all, and for some reason that thought wasn’t distasteful. Harry would most likely visit to congratulate him, as proper, on the Order of Merlin he was due to receive; he would spew apologies and thank his ex-professor, then the two of them would sip their mugs of tea in silence.

He needed to buy tea bags first thing tomorrow. Or, perhaps he'd do better to first retrieve his possessions from the Headmaster’s office at Hogwarts. He could even nab some of the staff room’s tea bags. Minerva would be sure to help him access the closed castle. Yes, he thought as he returned his attention to the Daily Prophet, careful not to crease the newspaper he had every intention of preserving, he was looking forward to beginning a... friendship with Harry Potter. What did it really matter if, in the end, after reading this article, some of the wizarding world still didn’t like Severus? The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice had forgiven him, and that was all the approval he required.


	5. Aching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a long break because, damn, lockdown is getting to me. Should be back in the swing of things now I've written this small chapter.

Every now and again, usually after a satisfying brewing session, Severus indulged in looking over his collection. He would sigh deeply, sink into his worn armchair in-front of the fireplace and summon to his lap a battered but well-warded shoebox. The collection inside this shoebox was small but infinitely precious and he handled the pieces of paper with shaking fingers.

It was not just his shoebox which was 'battered but well-warded'. This house, his childhood home situated on Spinner's End, had months ago been fortified with every warding spell he knew but hadn’t been allowed to use when he was Albus’ soldier and the Dark Lord’s servant. A grand total of three people were keyed to the outer wards which protected the house’s visibility. One of those individuals, a messy-haired teen, likely had no idea he could look at Severus' house without remembering he was late for an appointment elsewhere. (Keying someone to a ward did not require that someone's awareness or DNA.) Harry must be unaware of his privilege, since he had not knocked on Severus' door once throughout May, June or July. Severus suspected that August would be no different, regardless of the tea, biscuits, coffee, unchipped mugs and plates he’d bought in preparation.

As for ‘battered’, well there was no denying that his house needed renovating. He had more than enough money to do so but why would he bother? He didn’t like the house or its location; he wasn’t sentimental about his painful childhood. The house was a refuge from the elements and a place to protect his books, nothing more… except perhaps somewhere he could lick his wounds in peace.

He realised that ‘battered but well-warded’ might also apply to the current state of his heart. There was no outward indication that his heart was aching as his stern expression and dark robes guarded it from prying eyes. But he couldn’t deny that his heart was indeed in disrepair; he couldn’t remember if Nagini’s fangs, or even Cruciatus, had ever hurt him this keenly.

This evening, contrary to the state of his heart, he was dressed in a smarter black outfit than usual. Normally, he would remain in his brewing robes throughout the evening despite the fact they were badly stained with all manner of ingredients. Tonight, he had broken tradition by changing into velvet dress robes, tailored trousers and a crisp shirt.

The unusual stiffness of these clothes reminded him he didn’t have time for this, Minerva was to arrive any minute now, but he was drawn to perusing the contents of his shoebox like a desperate man magnetised to the murky depths of a canal.

The shoebox contained carefully cut-out articles. Underneath the clippings rested his pristine copy of the Daily Prophet which boasted the Golden Trio’s most famous and recent interview, and on top of everything lay a small vial containing a bright green potion. Ignoring these, he picked up the oldest clipping: the article was dated 1996 and entitled ‘Harry Potter Speaks Out at Last: The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Night I Saw Him Return’. Trembling, he ran his thumb over the words, hoping Harry’s courage would seep through the ink and into his bloodstream. He managed a small smile as he remembered how reading the Quibbler in the Great Hall, under Umbridge’s nose, had felt like the sweetest rebellion; how seeing this evidence of Harry’s integrity had caused him to strengthen his efforts to protect the boy.

He chose not to look at the other clippings, but his mind involuntarily recalled the subjects and matching photographs: from May, announcements of every funeral Harry had attended and Gringotts’ unexpected forgiveness of the Golden Trio, including speculation as to what the newly wealthy Harry would do with his delayed coming-of-age inheritance; from June, reports on Harry’s testimonies for the Malfoys, Draco’s subsequent community service and the lighter Azkaban sentence Narcissa would enjoy; from early July, a heavily creased article detailing Harry’s amicable split with Ginevra Weasley; from mid-July, the obituary of Andromeda Tonks and the declaration that Harry would be adopting little Teddy Lupin; finally, from last week, a piece of little substance which congratulated Harry on his eighteenth birthday – it had attracted Severus because the accompanying photo showed how much healthier Harry looked now he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Even in black and white, Harry’s eyes and cheeks glowed.

Snapping out of his daydream, Severus reminded himself that he didn’t want to think about those other articles; as much as he usually loved reading them, tonight they were proof that Harry had been busy since the Battle of Hogwarts and that rankled. Where was ‘Visit Professor Snape’ on Harry’s to-do list? Was checking on the wellbeing of ‘the bravest man’ Harry knew not a priority for the Boy-Who-Fibbed?

Or, was it possible that Harry was deliberately leaving Severus for last?

Was Harry waiting for tonight?


	6. Administration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter is a BEAST compared to my previous effort. I can’t help it that Snape and McGonagall are chatterboxes and I’m fascinated by how post-war Hogwarts might function.
> 
> The first meeting between Snape and Harry is on the horizon, but for now, please put up with this expository interlude.

‘Severus?’ Minerva’s voice floated from beyond the fireplace. ‘Are you there?’

‘Yes, hold on.’ After guiltily closing his shoebox and shoving it in a nearby cabinet, he waved his wand at the Floo. Green flames appeared and, a minute later, Minerva gracefully landed on the stone hearth. The flames vanished as he offered his hand to the elderly witch and guided her into the armchair opposite his own.

‘You look rather dashing,’ Minerva decided after looking him up and down.

He grimaced internally; he felt uneasy in his new robes. It wasn’t like he’d never dressed for a smart occasion. But he knew velvet had been an uncharacteristically bold choice. Politely inclining his head, he drawled, ‘You brush up well yourself.’ Properly examining Minerva’s outfit, he admitted, ‘That colour suits you.’

The witch looked delighted. ‘Why thank you,’ she beamed as she straightened the skirt of her dark blue dress robes. ‘More importantly, I see your good health continues, although I don’t suppose you’ve had much fresh air.’

He ignored the last of that remark. ‘Yes, I am in fine health and owe much to Dippy and Poppy. Is Dippy to be employed as Poppy’s assistant, as we discussed?’

‘Yes, and he’s delighted. I made sure to inform him it was your idea.’

He snorted. ‘They’re a strange sort, house-elves, but their magic is incomparable. I would have died without Dippy’s assistance. He deserves more, really, for putting up with Albus all those years.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Would you care for tea? Something stronger?’

‘No thank you, Severus. I am quite content to wait until later tonight.’ Minerva paused. ‘In fact, I'm glad we have this time together beforehand as I’ve been meaning to ask you something.’

'You may ask me anything you please.'

‘But you might not answer?’ Minerva smirked at him. ‘I quite understand.’ She hesitated before beginning her question, distractedly plucking a bit of fluff off her dress. ‘Severus, why on earth didn’t you summon Dippy as soon as You-Know-Who left the shack and Harry appeared? What did it matter if Harry and his friends witnessed your survival?’

The query had not sounded accusatory, but a shadow passed over Severus’ face and his dark eyes flickered to the fireplace. ‘Would you like me to light the fire? I thought it too warm again this evening.’

‘No, thank you,’ Minerva replied kindly, waiting while he arranged his thoughts.

‘It was manipulative of me, I suppose. All that time spent with Albus,’ he joked, and Minerva smiled indulgently. ‘As you know, I had already taken a potion before meeting the Dark Lord.’ Minerva nodded. ‘The potion ensured that if venom entered my system, my magic would shield my bloodstream and eventually staunch the bleeding at the open wound, as well as run further medical interference. In short, I would not immediately die.’ He exhaled. ‘I would be safe to 'play dead' for a brief period, after which I would summon Dippy and try to find Potter.’

‘To give Harry his... final task.’

‘Exactly.’ Severus’ mouth twitched at the corners. ‘I have never known one child to be so... damned unlucky in some respects, but miraculously fortunate in others.' Minerva chuckled, and Severus added, 'When Potter ran into the room I could have cried for joy.’ Grinning fully, something he now did frequently in Minerva's company, he admitted, ‘I did cry, in a way. Aware that Potter did not fully trust me, I presented the boy with a veritable flood of memories.’

Minerva huffed, at the end of her patience. ‘You know I know this, Severus, so quit stalling. Why did you then pretend to die? You-Know-Who was gone. There was nobody there who would cause you more harm.’

‘I am getting to that,’ said Severus, lifting an eyebrow. In truth, he was delaying his confession. It had been necessary at the time to manipulate Harry, but that didn’t mean he was proud of it. He cleared his throat and stared at the empty fireplace. ‘Potter looked so scared, Minerva, so confused, as he collected my memories and held my throat together. It was obvious that the boy wanted me to live even though he didn’t trust me.’ He paused, wondering how best to word his crime. Remembering the despair in Harry’s eyes, he found it difficult to continue speaking. Thankfully, Minerva conjured him a glass of water.

Reflecting that he was an appalling host, he drank deeply before resuming his explanation. ‘If I had summoned Dippy, I would have distracted Potter from his own mission. The boy would have fought to stay by my side, and I would not have been strong enough to insist he return to the battlefield.’ Not selfless enough, Severus privately thought, as he placed the glass of water on the little table by his chair.

‘So,’ he continued in a fierce tone, ‘as soon as I felt the potion begin to ease my bleeding, I pretended to die. It was only when Potter left the room that I called for Dippy’s aid.’

There was a short silence. ‘Well, Severus,’ Minerva remarked, ‘I’m sure Albus would agree that you more than did your duty to Hogwarts and the Order.’

He snorted and said, ‘I should bloody hope so. Those fangs hurt like hell.’ The elderly witch laughed, and Severus was glad to see colour returning to her cheeks.

'You know, Severus,' Minerva said thoughtfully, 'Harry might not realise you tricked him. He could think that a loss of consciousness was a side-effect of the potion you took. He might not have considered that you deliberately... 'played dead'.'

Severus wasn't sure, but he nodded anyway and changed the subject. ‘I won’t bother asking how you’ve been, Minerva. I'm sure your every waking moment has been consumed by work.’

‘Oh, really, you can speak!’ the witch exclaimed. ‘You’ve hardly left Spinner’s End since your arrival. As much as I’ve enjoyed having you to myself, you cannot avoid your doting fans forever.’ Severus rolled his eyes, which Minerva probably considered a victory.

‘Indeed. How is Hogwarts progressing?’

‘Oh, our builders have pretty much finished, which is just as well as the warders will require most of this month for their work. The castle will be stronger than ever.’

‘And what of your hunt for new staff?’ Albus' gift for hiring murderous idiots while he was Headmaster had inspired Minerva to modernise Hogwarts' recruitment process. Applicants now underwent thorough background checks.

‘Mostly sorted, thank Merlin,’ sighed Minerva. ‘It’s my own fault, giving myself so much to do.’

‘Indeed, I have no sympathy,’ Severus teased. ‘You are the first Headmistress, for instance, to deem counsellors a necessary part of the staff.’

‘Can you blame me?’

‘No,’ he reverted to a serious tone, ‘I cannot blame you. I believe Hogwarts will be a much safer place with you at the helm. Although,’ he paused for effect and gave Minerva his best sneer, ‘you never can be sure with Potter running amok.’

‘Severus,’ Minerva playfully scolded, ‘I know that sort of thinking was an act on your part.’ Mischievously, she added, ‘I’m sure, deep down, you wish you were seeing Harry through his final year.’

‘Slander!’ he accused, dramatically holding his hand to his heart and causing Minerva to giggle.

Severus had not known that Minerva could giggle (rich coming from himself), mere months ago. As colleagues, their relationship had begun cautiously friendly as they possessed similar temperaments. (Admittedly, that was only after they’d had a heart-to-heart about Severus’ treatment at the hands of the Marauders. Minerva had been more than apologetic for not taking a firmer stance against the bullying, and Severus had eventually forgiven her.) Unfortunately, their tentative friendship cooled to civility when Severus began to feign his hatred of young Harry. After the war, Minerva, accompanied by Kingsley, had visited Severus in St. Mungo’s while leaking tears and apologies. The two friends had talked for hours after Kingsley had left, listening to each other’s perspectives on all that had happened in the past couple of years. After Severus was discharged, Minerva had continued to visit Severus on a fortnightly basis.

‘On a serious note,' Minerva began, 'I am gratified that you think me a capable Headmistress. I am not getting any younger, after all.’ Before Severus could protest (or agree), his friend continued, ‘It’s Muggle Studies, of all things, which has given me the most trouble.’

Severus had to suppress a wince as he remembered Charity’s gruesome death. ‘Indeed? I thought you had found a new teacher.’

‘Yes, I have, but come now, Severus, we both know the subject is a mess regardless of who teaches it. At least with History of Magic it was the fault of the professor. It wasn’t as tricky as I thought, convincing Binns to retire. Turns out nobody had even broached the idea... I had to adapt the usual terms somewhat…’ Severus waited for the witch to remember what she had been saying. ‘So, yes, anyway, Muggle Studies has to go.’

He frowned. ‘Go? But the new professor?’

‘Well, it won’t be going just yet. I will allow the current fifth, sixth and seventh-year students to continue with the class for the sake of their exams. And those fifth-year students may continue the subject at N.E.W.T.-level, after the O.W.L., if they so choose.’ Minerva scowled. ‘It’s hardly the students’ fault the curriculum is so outdated. However, all other year-groups will not be permitted to begin or continue studying the subject.’

‘So, after three years have passed, the course will not be taught at all?’ For some reason, the thought of no Muggle Studies at Hogwarts was upsetting. Again, his thoughts went to Charity.

Minerva hurried to assuage his concern. ‘It will only be gone temporarily. There is a place for Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, particularly with what happened in the war, but the subject needs careful planning and a passionate teacher. It is not on my list of priorities.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he sniggered, ‘I suppose you are swamped explaining to innumerable parents that their children will be repeating the previous year.’

‘I didn’t think you disapproved,’ Minerva chided. 'I thought you liked the idea of all students being held back a year.'

‘Of course. I am the first to admit that no teaching, at least none of any value,’ he suppressed a shiver, ‘was performed while I was Headmaster. However, it amuses me greatly that you will be dealing with double the number of first-years.’

‘I’m more worried about the mischief that particular year-group will get up to as they move up the school. Just imagine when there’ll be double the number of fifth, sixth and then seventh years.’

‘Perish the thought,’ Severus drawled in reply.

‘At any rate,’ Minerva continued in a sombre voice, ‘the real hardship has been locating the Muggle-born students who were denied a place at Hogwarts last year. Providing they even survived the war. Understandably, most of them are now wary of the wizarding world.’

Despite this sobering image, Severus remained intrigued by the Muggle Studies position, so he asked, ‘If the new Muggle Studies professor only needs to teach O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students this year, and only N.E.W.T. students the following two years, then what will they do in their spare time? Or are they a part-timer?’

‘No, they will have full-time responsibilities.’ Minerva adjusted her glasses and looked rather serious. ‘The new professor will be busy supporting students who might decide to take on Muggle careers after Hogwarts.’

‘That is…’ Severus hesitated. ‘Unexpected.’

‘Have you never considered that some of our children, particularly Muggle-borns, might feel constrained by the magical world? If they are to secure a Muggle career, or be accepted into Muggle higher education, they will require intense guidance, not to mention Muggle documentation. For a start, they’ll need references from their teachers and grade conversions. Muggle employers and universities are interested in GCSEs, A-levels and work experience. Our new professor will liaise with the appropriate Ministry department to convert students’ achievements to the Muggle equivalents, or else coach the students through Muggle examinations and workshops to gain necessary certificates and skills.’

‘Goodness.’ Severus shook his head in disbelief. ‘And here I was thinking I had it rough as Headmaster,’ he joked.

‘Yes, well, thankfully my new professor will have all this in hand, even after their three years of finishing up Muggle Studies are complete. From then, their job title will be the Muggle Pathways Officer. No longer will students be left to flounder if they decide their full potential cannot be realised within the magical community.’

‘I’m impressed, if a little shocked. You are effectively encouraging students to abandon feeding the wizarding economy.’

‘We are a school, Severus, and Kingsley recognises this. Our priority should be providing a supportive and nurturing environment for all our students’ aspirations.’

Severus smirked. ‘I suppose arts courses will be next.’

‘I am not wholly against the idea. However, one step at a time. I’ve already planned for extracurricular excursions. And career days and the like.’

‘Merlin,’ Severus said, for it seemed like an adequate conclusion.

‘Do not give me that,' Minerva scolded, 'when I know for a fact you’re just as devoted to the school. In fact, it’s a crying shame you won’t be returning. Your help with the new curricula has been invaluable.’

It was true that Severus had recently rewritten both the Potions and Defence curricula. His main motivation had been to decrease the number of dunderheads graduating from Hogwarts. However, it gave him no small amount of satisfaction to know that whoever Minerva employed in these teaching positions would need to bend to his meticulous course structures. Minerva had been so pleased with his efforts that she was now asking all her current and newly hired professors to similarly improve their curricula. The brats wouldn’t know what had hit them, come September.

‘I will always be available to you in an advisory capacity, Minerva, but I cannot return to Hogwarts. Not when for the first time in my life I am free to live without rigid schedules. Besides, you cannot think I was suited to teaching.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you were,’ the witch replied, honest as ever, ‘but your job was made unnecessarily difficult.’ Severus nodded, wondering not for the first time what his natural teaching style might look like.

‘Well, on that cheerful note,’ Minerva announced with a wry smile, ‘hadn’t we be leaving?’ He merely groaned in response, having nearly forgotten tonight’s entertainment. ‘Come now,’ his friend cajoled, ‘you’re good at mingling, Slytherin that you are, and everyone adores you now. I hardly see what you have to be worried about.’

He grimaced. ‘I cannot rightly explain it, Minerva, but I have a bad feeling about tonight.’ Of course, he knew exactly why he felt this way, but he wasn’t about to tell the woman that, every time he thought about a certain ex-student, complicated feelings swirled in his gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've got time to comment, I'm interested to know what your all-time favourite Snarry fics are. Like, your top 3? It'll be fun to see whether I've read them or not (and alleviate my FOMO).


	7. Assembly

In the huge, candle-lit Ministry hall, shadows flickered, conversation bubbled, laughter swelled, glasses tinkled, and Harry listened with half an ear to Hermione and Ron’s eager voices.

He was sitting opposite Hermione and Ron at the large, round table which hosted the Weasleys and Grangers. His friends were regaling Bill and Fleur with tales from their trip to Australia; Hermione and Ron had taken a Portkey there, soon after the Prophet interview, to locate Hermione’s parents and restore their memories. Although her parents wished to continue living in Australia, Hermione had persuaded them to have a brief holiday in London. Therefore, the Grangers were temporarily living at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Hermione: spending quality time with their daughter, regularly visiting the Weasleys, and occasionally calling on the Muggle friends they’d abruptly abandoned for another continent.

Earlier tonight, Mr and Mrs Granger had appeared nervous, sticking close to Hermione when they first stepped into the hall full of magical people and creatures. However, the couple had relaxed upon receiving a warm welcome from Kingsley and now, after a delicious meal and few glasses of wine, were happily asking Mr and Mrs Weasley about everyone and everything in the room.

Although Harry tried to focus on the conversations at his table, he was well and truly distracted; behind him, less than two metres away, was another table boasting the full Hogwarts’ staff. Every now and then he quickly glanced over his shoulder, probably looking like a fidgety toddler. He knew that Professor Snape was seated somewhere on that table, and this knowledge was giving him an occasional full-body shiver. He tried to act nonchalant by examining his own table’s centrepiece, a small, glittering tree surrounded by what he could only describe as floating balls of light (he had grinned and caught Ron’s eye upon first seeing the ornament), but couldn’t stop himself from jiggling his foot underneath the table to discreetly vent his anxiety.

Over the past few months, both Hermione and Professor McGonagall had been nagging him to visit Spinner’s End, claiming that the animosity between Snape and Harry had never truly existed. Privately, he felt that Hermione and McGonagall didn’t know squat. He had seen Snape’s memories, and they only indicated that Snape was a brave and brilliant man who had hoped Harry would survive the war in one piece. Nothing more, nothing less.

Of course, McGonagall was one of the few people who had seen Dumbledore’s memories, courtesy of Dippy the house-elf. But wouldn’t she have told Harry if those memories revealed something about him? Or did she think Harry already knew the content of Dumbledore's memories, assuming they were similar to Snape's?

Then there was Hermione. She hadn’t directly witnessed memories of any sort, but (being both a teacher’s pet and an optimist) she had immediately sided with McGonagall on the matter of whether Harry and Snape were BFF material. Ron had taken a more neutral stance.

Anyway, Harry was trying not to think about it. He and his friends had at least improved Snape’s reputation, so he was happy to leave the man alone.

Unfortunately, his body hadn’t received this message, which was why his hands were now sweating. He wiped them on his trousers and nervously tapped the heels of his shiny dress shoes together. (There’s no place like home.) What if he did have to interact with Snape? Yes, he had resolved to return the professor’s memories tonight, but he hoped that would be an in-and-out operation. If not, and a full-on conversation was required, then what on god’s green earth would he say to the man? (There’s no place like home.) He had thanked Snape in the Prophet interview, for everything the professor had done to protect him over the years, but it occurred to him now that Snape might expect a face-to-face declaration.

Panicking, Harry gulped down oxygen before deciding he'd do better to take a swig of Butterbeer. (Granted, Butterbeer had a low alcohol percentage. Having never had much time for experimental drinking at Hogwarts, Harry couldn’t be bothered with alcoholic drinks now and generally avoided the stuff… Although this might have more to do with memories of Uncle Vernon’s drunken rages.) He clutched the cold glass, envying his friends’ alcohol-induced gaiety as he tried to be a little less introspective. George was laughing with Charlie and Percy, after all, and the grieving twin had a greater excuse to be out of sorts.

Not for the first time, it was Kingsley’s booming (magically enhanced) voice which broke Harry from his overthinking. ‘Good evening, everyone, eyes towards me if you please!’

Harry straightened his posture and focused on Kingsley who was standing on the stage in-front of the Weasley-Granger-Potter table. Kingsley wore flamboyant robes which had first made Harry think of Dumbledore, but now on-stage they reminded him of a Muggle musical which had been Big D’s guilty pleasure (Harry had once walked in on Dudley quietly singing the words ‘ ... it was red and yellow and green and brown… ’ and received a kicking for his trouble).

Kingsley winked in his direction, making Harry blush, before smiling at the assembly of witches, wizards and creatures. Harry fervently hoped that he would not trip over his new shoes at any point in the upcoming hour. (There’s no place like home.) His legs felt like Jelly Slugs fed on Alihotsy leaves. Snape, whether he liked Harry or not, should be proud Harry remembered such leaves existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Should I be embarrassed by the number of consecutive cliches in the first sentence? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	8. Affront

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO DAMN PROUD OF THIS CHAPTER. :3

Having spent the past forty minutes mingling with excitable witches and wizards, Severus was now ‘recharging his batteries’, an expression which Lily had once been fond of using in relation to himself. Standing off to one side of the large hall which teemed with activity, full flute of champagne in hand, he was trying not to scowl too obviously at the dancefloor where, amid swaying couples, Kingsley was spinning a flustered Harry Potter out of time with the gentle music. The boy was wearing pine green dress robes, his hair was its usual mess, and he was laughing at Kingsley’s antics.

The unruly couple were attracting more than Severus’ notice, but most people were smiling indulgently at the rebellious Minister and Boy-Who-Couldn’t-Dance. Indeed, the hired photographer was snapping photo after photo of the pair, from a discreet distance, and Severus had no doubt what would grace the front page of the Prophet tomorrow morning.

The real question was whether said page would make its way into Severus’ shoebox. Was another photo of Harry worth the reminder of how happy the boy looked with Kingsley? Perhaps he would be able to crop Kingsley out of the picture, but it would be difficult for Severus not to forever associate the photograph with his current misery.

Pondering this dilemma, he realised that Miss Granger was bouncing on her toes beside him like an overeager puppy. (At least one of the Golden Trio was showing an interest.) She was dressed in yellow, floaty robes which complemented her dark skin tone and petite figure. Her bushy curls fell freely around her anxious face.

Severus sighed. It was his aim nowadays to at least be courteous to every (non-threatening) person who approached him. This was not always an easy task, especially in the case of bold ex-students. The vicious spite he’d wielded while a professor had been exhausting, and he cringed to remember some of the worst insults he’d thrown at students like Miss Granger, but that did not mean he was a patient man. Hermione Granger possessed a rather… overbearing personality.

Taking a calming breath, he abruptly turned to the girl, startling her into stillness. ‘Yes, Miss Granger?’

‘Hermione,’ the girl immediately corrected with a bright smile, the frown lines disappearing from her face. ‘Please call me Hermione.’

‘Very well,’ Severus agreed in a somewhat condescending tone, ‘what is it you would like to tell me, Hermione?’

‘Oh, nothing in particular,’ she replied airily. ‘You look very well, sir.’ Severus studied the girl’s guileless face, wondering if she was attempting to flirt. He received quite a bit of fan-mail since becoming a ‘National Treasure’, whatever that meant, but he thankfully never saw any of it because his post from strangers was redirected to a Ministry employee. Minerva regularly teased him about his ‘heartthrob’ status; that witch was one of few people who knew him to be gay.

He decided to nod politely at Hermione. ‘I have already been informed that I appear in good health.’ Remembering the girl was for some reason in love with Mr Weasley, so probably wasn’t flirting, he added, ‘You might as well call me Severus.’

Hermione looked delighted and repeated the name to herself. Then she nodded and said in a serious voice, ‘I can do that.’ Severus’ lips twitched in amusement.

‘I have long suspected you can do anything you put your mind to. I am pleased that Potter counts you among his friends.’ Damnation. He had no idea what god had made him say that out loud, much less in such a solemn voice. It appeared to please the girl because her cheeks flushed and she gave him a tremulous smile. He quickly made sure to add, ‘Goodness knows Potter has no brains of his own.’

Hermione looked torn between disapproval and laughter. ‘No, Severus, you’ve got it all wrong. Harry is plenty smart. He’s just not very bookish.’

‘Hm,’ he found himself teasing, ‘and here I was thinking they were much the same thing.’ Hermione shook her head and Severus suddenly noticed the delicate gold chain around the girl’s neck. Blue strands of thread were woven through the metal links. How strange.

‘I do not wish to be rude, Miss- Hermione, but may I ask why you are wearing the House of Potter’s jewellery?’

‘Oh,’ Hermione’s hand momentarily went to her throat. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t know… The press hasn’t got hold of it, yet. It’ll cause quite a stir when they do.’

‘Do get on with it,’ he snapped impatiently, worried as to what mess Potter had got himself into this time.

The girl had the gall to smirk before casually replying, ‘Harry officially transferred the Potter Wizengamot seat to myself, and the Black seat to Luna Lovegood. He did it on his birthday. The Wizengamot hasn’t had to meet, since then, so not many people know about it.’

Severus stared at her. Transferring Noble seats outside of one’s family was social suicide. Of course, nobody would see it that way coming from the Boy-Who-Shone-Eternal. Hell, the brat would probably make it fashionable. ‘And why would Potter do a foolish thing like that?’ he asked.

Hermione shrugged. ‘Foolish to you, a Slytherin, but not foolish to Harry. He’s never had the stomach for politics. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted it’s time a Muggle-born had some sway, and he knows how I want to change the world. Ron agreed with him, so that settled it. Harry joked that Luna’s outlandish views will keep me and everyone else on our toes.’

‘Hm.’ Severus frowned while considering this explanation, ignoring the dubious value placed on the Weasley boy’s opinion. Lovegood was a perceptive girl, he remembered, albeit easily distracted when brewing volatile potions. ‘Perhaps Potter is using his head for a change,’ he conceded. ‘Admitting his own shortcomings, that is.’

‘Oh no, Severus,’ the girl again contradicted him in a bright voice, ‘I’m sure Harry would do just fine in my place, but he does have a good point, using these seats for better representation, I mean, and I’m quite proud of him now I’ve had time to get used to the idea, but I suppose I’m not allowed to say that given my vested interest.’ Hermione paused to breathe. ‘Mind you, the Wizengamot has been shaken up already. The seats for Ministry employees, I mean.’

‘Yes, I do happen to read the Prophet.’ Severus sternly reminded the girl. ‘Besides, I suspected as much as soon as I heard of my acquittal. The old Wizengamot would not have declared me innocent.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Hermione agreed, looking sad at the thought.

Severus did not want sympathy from the young witch, so he hastily enquired, ‘The Lovegood property was destroyed in the war, was it not?’

‘Yes. They’re currently living with the Longbottoms. We all offered to help rebuild their home but they want to do it themselves.’ Hermione lowered her voice to add, ‘Something about the aura of the brickwork.’ Severus couldn’t help but smirk at the girl’s obvious disapproval.

‘Indeed, that sounds about right.’

Hermione fidgeted for a moment, worrying him, before asking, ‘May I ask how you plan to spend your time, now that you won’t be teaching?’

‘I find I am not in need of employment.’ He had no qualms admitting this to the girl, proud as he was that he had saved his teaching wages, although admittedly most of his wealth was made up of the unbelievable sum which he had guiltily inherited from Albus, not to mention the money attached to his Order of Merlin. ‘I have a lot of catching up to do with contemporary potions research,’ Severus elaborated. Hermione, an intellectual before all else, nodded intently in response. ‘While reading, I plan to experiment in the areas which most intrigue me and hopefully contribute something worthwhile to the world.’ He couldn’t help but glance at the nearby Mr Longbottom who was holding a lively conversation with Rubeus and Firenze. He had a lot to make up to that idiotic, clumsy, and irritatingly brave young man.

‘Ah.’ Hermione, too perceptive for her own good, had followed his gaze and was now staring at Longbottom herself. ‘I think I understand, Severus.’

‘Yes, well,’ he grumbled, ‘you would be wise to keep that under wraps. Nothing may come of it.’

‘Of course,’ she said, turning back to face him. ‘Although,’ the girl’s eyes twinkled as Albus’ used to do, ‘I think you underestimate your abilities.’

Severus huffed and changed the subject. ‘Tell me, Hermione, how does Mr Potter feel about tonight?’ He resisted looking at the dancefloor, instead taking his first sip of champagne. (He didn’t much care for the stuff.) ‘I realise he does not enjoy his fame, but does he approve of tonight’s awards and… other objects?’

Hermione snorted. ‘Harry thinks the statues are funny, if that’s what you’re getting at. I don’t think they bother him.’

‘Hmph.’ The statues were interesting, to say the least. After the ceremonial dinner, Kingsley had done his best to speed through an arduous awards ceremony (it was hard to believe it had only lasted an hour). The ceremony had begun with a respectful, commemorative silence for all magical folk, creatures and Muggles who had died under the Dark Lord’s reign of terror. Then, Kingsley had revealed the designs of four statues which were soon to reside in the Ministry Atrium.

The first 'statue' was a tasteful slab of granite, displaying a list of the first and second war's casualties. No problems there. The second statue, however, was a ridiculous thing, reminiscent of the lost Fountain of Magical Brethren: it depicted a centaur, hippogriff, thestral, house-elf and giant (the height of the latter creature making the whole thing look absurd), standing united with a faceless student, professor and shopkeeper. The eight golden figures stood in an uneven circle, facing outwards and posed to do battle.

The third statue didn’t look too awful, but upon its reveal Severus had noticed the Golden Trio cringe. It was a bronze representation of the three friends. Their wands were raised above their heads and the three wand-tips touched in a triangular point. Honestly, Severus thought it a rather moving tribute - he had witnessed the trio grow from irritating eleven-year-olds into equally irritating young adults, and he had always been envious of their friendship.

When the fourth and final statue was revealed, Severus suddenly understood why Harry, Hermione and Mr. Weasley had cringed at their own monument. Apparently portraying the ‘Leaders of the Light’, it was a silver representation of Albus and Severus, their hands clasped together for some ungodly reason, standing proudly beneath a phoenix which revolved around their heads. It was received with much applause, but Minerva had been beside herself with giggles and only her advanced age had prevented Severus from kicking her in the shin.

Thankfully, Kingsley had been determined to move quickly through the rest of the ceremony. Third-Class Orders of Merlin were presented to those who had bravely continued to do business or teach while the Dark Lord was in power. The Second-Class Order went to everyone who had helped the Order of the Phoenix, rebelled from within the Ministry, or fought in the Battle of Hogwarts or in other skirmishes across Britain. Of course, all recipients of these awards had, prior to tonight, submitted evidential memories of their courageous deeds. In the case that an individual qualified for both awards, they were presented with the higher-ranking Order. (The administration in preparation for this night must have been a nightmare.)

There were fewer recipients of the First-Class Order. Only the Golden Trio, Longbottom, Minerva, a very modest Kingsley, Severus himself, and Poppy had collected this medal. Albus would have posthumously received it, of course, if he had not already won his Order of Merlin a long time ago. Indeed, a disturbing number of tonight’s heroes were deceased. In this case, a sombre family member collected the medal to subdued applause. Harry had collected medals for Black, Lupin, Tonks, Moody, and Tonks’ mother and father. Severus wondered where little Teddy was tonight.

After the Orders of Merlin came the certificates which recognised the hard work of Ministry employees since the Battle of Hogwarts. Severus thought these well-deserved, given that every department in the Ministry had somehow been revamped and purged at breakneck speed. Aurors, of course, had been busy from the get-go, managing to capture most suspected Death Eaters (with the notable exception of Severus) and lock them away in newly reconstructed holding cells before sending them to trial. Azkaban itself had undergone expansion and renovation, the Dementors thankfully removed, and miraculously not a soul had escaped during the upheaval. Kingsley was turning out to be the most radical and fast-acting Minister the wizarding world had ever seen (save perhaps the Dark Lord), and every Ministry employee who received their certificate looked rather tired.

And it didn’t end there, as (rightly so) Kingsley did not forget the contributions made by magical creatures. Goblins had refrained from attending the ceremony, it being beneath their interest. However, Rubeus had accepted a certificate which promised funding for him to better look after Grawp and Hogwarts’ thestrals and hippogriffs. Firenze accepted Kingsley’s thanks on behalf of the centaurs, but Severus suspected this was merely symbolic of whatever privileges the centaurs had gained from behind-the-scene bargaining with Kingsley.

Finally, rather sweetly (but that opinion was between Severus and himself), Kreacher and another house-elf called Winky had walked onto the stage to polite applause, the two of them stumbling, giddy and unusually clean. They accepted a trophy on behalf of the house-elves who had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. Severus doubted the house-elves would accept a monetary prize, or changes to their current rights, but the creatures were clearly overwhelmed with happiness to be thus recognised. This was not helped, of course, by Harry Bloody Potter standing up to whoop and cheer as the two small creatures shook Kingsley’s hand. Harry had been tugged back down into his seat by Mrs Weasley, but not before the house-elves had waved excitedly at the brat. Severus had nearly resorted to stuffing his fist into his mouth to contain his laughter.

Severus broke out of his reverie to realise that Hermione was still speaking about the ridiculous brat. ‘I can tell he’s chuffed Kingsley’s recognising the efforts of so many people and creatures,’ Hermione said. ‘Harry always hated the notion that he only did everything himself. He used to go on and on about his luck, and how he always had help when he needed it. He sees tonight as a way for everyone to acknowledge a team effort, even if he is being shoved under the main spotlight as usual.’ Severus uncharitably reflected that dancing with the Minister was a sure way to attract the spotlight, before reminding himself that it had been Kingsley who had dragged Harry to the dancefloor and not the other way around.

‘You know,’ Hermione continued in a thoughtful tone, ‘Harry should really have come to speak to you by now. I’ve been telling him for months…’ The girl trailed off and Severus watched in horror as she suddenly walked away from him and over to Harry... The brat in question had extracted himself from Kingsley and was currently speaking to Mr. Weasley.

Why was Hermione so sure that Harry would benefit from speaking to Severus, or vice versa? It wasn’t like the girl could know how he felt about Harry, could she? Had he given anything away during their conversation? It was difficult to recall anything they had spoken about, right now… Suddenly, he was forced to look at his feet (how embarrassing) because Harry was staring in his direction while Hermione gesticulated at the boy.

Had Minerva told Hermione what she’d seen in Albus’ memories? Surely not. The elderly witch could play dirty, but she wasn’t that cruel.

His stomach flipped when he glanced back up to see that Harry was now determinedly walking towards him. What was this fresh hell? He wanted to talk to the boy, of course he did, but now he knew the truth of it. Harry didn’t like him. He didn’t even hate him. No, The-Boy-Who-Had-Everything was indifferent to Severus’ existence, and would only approach him at the urging of Hermione Granger.

Humiliated, he straightened his back and puffed out his chest. As the boy got steadily closer, Severus Occluded his pain and cloaked his heart with the darkness in which it usually thrived.


	9. Argument

Cursing Hermione, Harry strode towards Snape. He would not be intimidated any longer by the professor; he would not be unnerved by the man; he would not be fazed by that impenetrable tower of black…

… velvet?

Harry stumbled over his shoes and flushed. How had he only just noticed that Snape was wearing velvet? Yes, Harry had been attempting to ignore the professor all evening, but there was no denying that the man’s robes were striking. The creases and curves in the material caught the light and revealed Snape to be more than an unrelenting block of ice; somewhere beneath his clothes he possessed a normal, human body. Reminded of how vulnerable Snape had looked in the hospital wing, Harry’s irritation vanished as he halted three feet in-front of the professor. Snape was tall. If Harry stood close to the man, which he wasn’t going to try, the top of his head wouldn’t quite reach Snape’s shoulders.

Disregarding Snape’s crossed arms and impatiently tapping foot, Harry fixed his eyes on the professor’s hairline. (It didn’t appear to be greasy.) A sharp eyebrow rose higher on Snape’s forehead, presumably mocking Harry, but there was no way Harry was looking directly into Snape eyes, not when the last time he’d done so…

Well, at least Snape hadn’t really died. Unless this was all a dream. Given how off-balance and heavy-footed Harry felt, this could well be a nightmare.

Realising he was staring and neither he nor the professor were speaking, he clasped his clammy hands behind his back and cleared his throat. ‘Good evening, Professor Snape,’ he said, formally addressing Snape’s hairline. ‘Er…’ he hesitated, wondering whether his next comment would sound silly, ‘you look remarkably… well.’ His eyes couldn’t help but wander as he said this. He had to admit, Snape looked healthy, perhaps even a little flushed, although the collar of the man’s robes probably hid scarred flesh.

‘Mr Potter,’ Snape purred. Harry started and accidentally made eye-contact with the man (oh, shite). The black eyes were glittering, reflecting the room’s candlelight. Harry had no idea whether the eyes were hostile or merely calculating. Snape did seem to consider him for a moment, his gaze meandering over Harry’s frame. Although still scrawny, Harry supposed he looked different from the blood-spattered, grimy boy who had knelt by the professor in the Shrieking Shack.

‘I take it Miss Granger has convinced you I require your… company,’ Snape drawled. ‘Perhaps, if you have something to say to me… it should be done somewhere a little more private.’

Harry glanced around. Although most of tonight’s guests were busy with their own conversations, a few curious faces were turned their way. Thankfully, the photographer was busy with a group of flirty twenty-somethings. Harry couldn’t think of anything specific he had to say to Snape but admitting that would be rude. ‘Where do you su-?’ Before Harry could finish his question, Snape whipped out his wand and the world around them rippled.

‘A blend of the Confundus and Protego charms, Potter,’ Snape sneered in response to Harry’s confused head tilt. Harry would have expected Snape to spit out his surname, but the man sounded tired. ‘Anyone who looks at us will briefly forget we exist… and fix their attention on something else. However, we can still be heard. The magic will allow for a discreet getaway.’ Harry wanted to ask why they couldn’t use Muffliato but Snape was marching to the nearest doorway.

Harry sighed and trailed after the billowing robes (apparently Snape could do that with any fabric). He was thankful that magic hid their joint departure; people seemed to assume that he was pals with Snape, nowadays, but that didn’t mean the two of them wouldn’t be followed if they were seen leaving together. Harry could do with learning this Confundus-Protego hybrid. How did you even blend spells? Hermione would know.

Snape swept midway down a deserted hallway and disappeared into an alcove. Feeling awkward, Harry hovered outside the small space, but Snape pulled him inside and waved his wand to remove the shielding charm.

This wasn’t good. Not only was he a mere foot away from the professor, his back was pressed against the inner wall of the alcove and Snape was blocking the exit. He shivered, unable to look at Snape and more convinced with every painful heartbeat that the man was getting larger and the alcove was shrinking. Consumed by these thoughts and the overwhelming smell of herbs and sweat, he frantically rummaged inside his robes. Finding what he was after, he threw the corked vial of memories at Snape’s torso. Snape caught the vial, and Harry used the man's distraction to shove past him and stagger into the corridor.

Gasping for air, he started to retrace his steps, heading back to the main party, but a large hand gripped his shoulder. He didn’t turn to face Snape but stood still, muscles tense, prepared to wait out the tirade.

‘You’re telling me,’ the scathing voice droned from behind Harry, ‘the boy who defeated the Dark Lord is unnerved by small spaces. How… pathetic.’

Harry bristled, alarmed that Snape had discerned the truth of his panic and angry the man was mocking him for it. He spun around to face Snape who immediately let go of his shoulder.

Eyes blazing, Harry hissed, ‘Do you think I wasn’t afraid of Voldemort?’ Snape’s own eyes widened in surprise. ‘Because that’s bullshit. I was terrified of him, all the damn time.’ Harry was shaking now, his hands balled into fists. ‘And the only reason I faced that fear was because I had to. If I didn’t confront Tom, it was only a matter of time before he hurt my friends. I had no effing choice in the matter.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘I don’t, however, have to force myself to deal with claustrophobia, so kindly keep your nasty opinion to yourself.’

‘Kindly?’ Snape sneered. ‘I have never been kind to you, Potter.’

‘No, that’s right, Snape,’ he laughed shortly. ‘You haven’t. I don’t know why I expected Nagini’s venom to change that. You’ll always be the vicious bully I knew from day one.’ His voice rose as he exclaimed, ‘For god’s sake, I was so desperate to impress you! I was noting down everything you said, that first day in class. You assumed I wasn't paying attention.’

He looked down at Snape’s boots, no longer able to stomach the man’s blank but pale expression, and recited in a quiet voice, ‘… the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…’ He sighed as the anger left him. ‘I was in awe of you, Professor. But I know better now. You might have kept me alive, and you might be a brave man, but,’ he paused before delivering the final blow, his eyes stinging, ‘my mum would be ashamed of you.’

Harry couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Horrified with himself, he ran back down the corridor, desperate to leave the stupid party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: I prefer it when Snape (rather than Harry) is the character who makes most of the big mistakes. So, in this fic, Snape might frequently upset and/or misunderstand Harry. Don't worry - deep down he means well, but he's a bit clumsy when it comes to tender feelings and he's often rude and defensive. If it's any consolation, Harry never hates him for long!
> 
> Does anyone else share this preference? I find it really difficult to like stories in which Harry does something horrible, but for some reason I'm excited by the drama when Snape commits a no-no.
> 
> Also, this is a quote from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (too pretty not to use): ‘… the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…’


	10. Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is aptly named, given how sorry I am to have gone so long without updating. Time 'is a fickle friend'?

Harry gave Crookshanks a final stroke before nudging the cat off his chest and springing off the sofa. He wanted to go on a walk to clear his head of last night’s disastrous encounter. Naturally an early riser, thanks to the Dursleys, he had arrived downstairs in time to greet the dawn. That didn’t mean he was proactive at half-past five in the morning: both he and Crookshanks had spent the last two hours curled on a sofa, idly waiting for Hermione and her parents to wake up and shake them into action.

Last night, after dashing away his tears, Harry, feigning tiredness, had said a hurried goodbye to his friends before Apparating to Grimmauld Place and throwing himself into bed. Crookshanks had prowled into Harry’s bedroom to investigate the commotion, and Harry had sobbed into the cat’s fur until he fell asleep. This morning, faintly embarrassed, he had managed to shower and trudge downstairs, before once again collapsing in a fit of despair, this time on the drawing room's sofa. Crookshanks had soon joined him, unwilling to pass up the chance of another cuddle.

Now he was standing once more, Harry stretched out the kinks in his back, reflecting for the millionth time how relieved he was that Crookshanks had survived the war. When they were forced to forget Hermione’s existence, the Grangers had also lost all knowledge of Crookshanks. The flat-faced, lovable ‘stray’ hadn’t taken abandonment too hard, instead endearing himself to the Grangers’ ex-neighbours. In May, upon returning with Hermione to England, the Grangers had found Crookshanks still living in their old Hampstead cul-de-sac and smugly enjoying a Six-Dinner-Sid existence. Ever the intelligent animal, the cat had been waiting for his humans to return and didn’t kick up a fuss when the reunited household relocated him to Grimmauld Place.

Harry had thus bonded with Crookshanks while renovating Sirius' old house, magically animating chips of plaster and wood shavings for the cat to chase. He suspected he was still grieving Hedwig, but that was something else he had decided not to think about. It had taken all of June and July and a veritable army of Harry’s friends, including an over-excited Kreacher and Winky, to help make Grimmauld Place habitable and aesthetically pleasing. Crookshanks had enjoyed getting under everyone’s feet and begging for ear scratches, while Harry himself had enjoyed seeing all his loved ones (adults, creatures and teenagers alike), focused on tasks as harmless as cleaning and painting... which weren't 'harmless' at all when so many Gryffindors were involved.

These gatherings had come about in response to everyone needing a distraction from the aftermath of countless funerals. Rebuilding Hogwarts, Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade weren’t options as these ruins had been left in the hands of professional builders. Since Grimmauld Place was no longer protected by the Fidelius Charm, it had seemed natural for people to congregate at the old headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, whether the people in question were Order members or merely those of Harry’s friends who had got wind of the open invitation. During the hot summer days, with Harry and his then-girlfriend Ginny laughingly supervising, this flock of witches and wizards had diligently swept away and painted over the ashes of bitter wartime memories. Although sparkling and tastefully decorated, Grimmauld Place now felt empty with just himself and the Grangers living in it. But Harry knew that it was time his ragtag group of friends, all survivors of varying traumas and conflicts, moved on with their lives. Besides, he would be seeing some of them at Hogwarts in September.

Since his recent adoption of Teddy, Harry had made an almost-daily habit of taking his little boy in a pram to the local park. The two of them wore powerful Glamours for these trips (cast by a nagging Hermione) and Teddy would laugh and coo at the ducks while Harry invented funny stories about the passers-by. He didn’t care that Teddy couldn’t understand a word he was saying, but instead basked in the feeling that he was loved by a tiny human who knew nothing about him except that he provided fun and safety.

Or, if Harry was feeling sentimental (usually triggered by the approach of any dog which looked like it might have wolf in its blood, or else a lady with peculiar hair glancing in their direction), he told a transfixed Teddy about Lupin and Tonks. He would properly retell these anecdotes to Teddy when the child was older, of course, but for now he liked rehearsing them out loud to the smiling baby. It was his personal mission to make these stories about Teddy’s parents word-perfect by the time Teddy was old enough to question his place in the world.

Unfortunately, this morning Teddy was still at a ‘sleepover’, keeping old Mrs Longbottom company. Usually, Winky and Kreacher babysat Teddy if Harry ever needed to run errands or attend…

… well, attend miserable, godforsaken, Ministry-arranged events. But he wasn't thinking about those.

Last night, he had wanted to give Kreacher and Winky free reign to enjoy themselves at the awards ceremony. It was Neville who had suggested leaving Teddy with Mrs Longbottom and her own dutiful house-elves. Harry had instantly warmed to Bilbo, Freddy and Samuel, who were fun-loving and kind-hearted elves, and had no qualms about leaving little Teddy with them overnight. If he was honest with himself, he relished the temporary break from being a dad. Teddy was an angelic child, but he was very in tune with Harry’s emotions. Nowadays, Harry often felt solemn or anxious, even though he was keeping healthy and busy, and it sometimes worried him that Teddy was growing up around grieving and mostly traumatised adults.

As if on cue, a noise rang from the adjoining room and caused Harry to jump in alarm. Crookshanks wasn’t startled: the cat merely flicked his tail as if telling Harry to get a grip. Scolding himself, Harry went to see which of his friends' owls had just arrived. His post from strangers was redirected to a Ministry employee, but owls from his friends and acquaintances were magically encouraged to fly through a warded window in his office and land on a perch where they were announced with a simple bell charm.

Sitting proudly on this perch was an unfamiliar, stern-looking, long-eared owl. He approached the bird with a hastily procured owl treat and placed the offering on the small tray which was attached to the perch. After eyeing Harry for a solid minute, the owl silently began to peck at the treat, displaying more dignity than Harry had ever before seen from a feathered creature (and that included the more aloof members of Hagrid’s Hippogriff herd).

Chuckling to himself, he gently detached the letter from the owl’s leg, noticing for the first time that the owl was also carrying a small black box. He set the box on his desk and focused his attention on the letter. There was no writing on the outside of the parchment, so he could not guess who had sent it. Feeling the mix of excitement and apprehension he usually felt when confronted with a mystery, he gingerly unrolled the single scroll of parchment.

His heart rate quickened. He instantly recognised the handwriting, which wasn’t surprising given how he had obsessed over this spiky calligraphy in his sixth year at Hogwarts.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr Potter,

I am sure it will come as no surprise to you that I must have the last word, so to speak, even if it is to make amends.

As was perhaps not made apparent by the content of my memories, I had no choice but to pretend to hate you while you were my student at Hogwarts. I had to ensure that the Dark Lord could not learn of my betrayal from you or your friends. Admittedly, I went overboard in this role, but you must understand that I was terrified of discovery and punishment, even in those early years when the rest of the world believed the Dark Lord to be dead.

Therefore, in the spirit of self-preservation, I tormented you and your friends. It was easier for me to enact this deception when I imagined that I was hurting James Potter, hence the frequent comparisons I made between you and your father.

I do not expect you to believe this, but I want you to know that I did not hate you and often found myself admiring your loving and courageous nature. You remind me of Lily, rather than James.

As for my abominable behaviour last night, I must apologise. I do not wish to excuse my words, but you should know that I am a defensive and bitter man who is prone to lashing out at others even when the threat of the Dark Lord’s wrath is eradicated.

I do not think that you are weak, Mr Potter, for possessing a fear that is difficult to overcome. It pains me to admit this, but since my mishap with Nagini I have developed a fear of snakes. I am still learning this myself, but I have been told there is nothing shameful about experiencing fear or deciding to avoid the trigger. I did not mean the words I said, and only wished to injure you because it appeared that you were less than pleased with my company.

I understand if you never wish to speak to me again, given our history and conflicting personalities. As Minerva must have already informed you, I will not be returning to teach at Hogwarts so you will be able to graduate in peace.

Regards,

Severus Snape

P.S. I am astonished you can remember the speech I gave to my first-year students. It is gratifying to know that, at the time, you thought it worth recording. Perhaps, under the right tutelage, you were a more diligent student than I ever gave you credit…

That’s a big ‘perhaps’.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	11. Absolved

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Snape’s Diary: Saturday, 8th August 1998]

I’ve really done it now. I couldn’t leave him alone, could I? I saw a hole in Harry’s armour, and couldn’t resist prodding – reverting to my old role.

But no, that isn’t even the truth of it. I lashed out because Harry clearly didn’t want to speak to me. And why would he? He can get stories about Lily from Minerva: the two of them seem close now, and they don’t possess the same poisonous history Harry and I share.

He gave my memories back. Threw them at me, in fact. So that’s final – he wants nothing to do with me.

Still, I should apologise. I was out of order, taunting him like that. His eyes shone so brightly when he defended himself. I was entranced. Utterly unable to defend myself. And I’m glad I didn’t – that would have made it worse.

As it is, I might still have a chance to make things right between us. I shouldn’t waste it. I’ll send him a letter tomorrow morning. God, I hate parties. I’m glad I don’t drink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Snape’s Diary: Saturday, 8th August 1998]

It is now midnight. I keep rewriting tomorrow’s letter in my mind, which is making it difficult to sleep.

I’m thinking of also sending Harry one of Albus’ memories – one of those which ‘proved my innocence’. They were copied and archived by the Ministry when my trial was taking place, and, afterwards, the originals were given to me to do with as I please.

The specific memory I’m thinking of… It is somewhat embarrassing. It’s difficult to acknowledge to myself that Minerva and the Ministry have seen it and so know the intensity of my loyalty to the boy.

The content of this memory should irrefutably demonstrate to Harry that I never thought badly of him.

Surely, making myself this vulnerable will convince Harry of my apology’s sincerity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Professor Snape,

Thank you for your apology.

I forgive you and must also apologise; the words I spoke last night were also unrepresentative of my true feelings. In that moment, I was offended by your jibe and wanted to hurt you, so I chose insults which I thought would do the most damage. If you are sometimes bitter and defensive, then I am no better.

Please believe that I understand why you behaved as you did while my professor and no longer hold this against you. Rather, I deeply admire your courage and successful manipulation of unenviable circumstances. Lily would not be ashamed of you.

Regards,

Harry

P.S. Speaking of ‘courage’, perhaps you are more Gryffindor than meets the eye. (That’s a big ‘perhaps’.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Snape’s Diary: Sunday, 9th August 1998]

I sent my letter early this morning. A reply from Harry arrived this evening. I suppose he wasn’t eager to respond. Then again, he might have been out doing whatever bright young things get up to on the weekend. 

But he did reply, and that is the main thing.

He’s returned Albus' memory, in the same box I used as packaging. He didn’t even mention it in the letter, or at least not directly. I don’t know what that means, or if the boy even watched it. I hope he did, of course, but I am somewhat relieved to have it back. I can lock it back in the dark with the others Albus left behind, and hope I never have to use them again. (Hope that people will now take my ‘innocence’ for granted.)

It is a surprisingly eloquent letter. Now that I think about it, Harry did express himself well in his Potions and Defence essays. It is not completely his fault he lacked the subject knowledge necessary for better grades: for one, he had to suffer through a myriad of dubious professors and teaching methods (mine sadly included). For another, the Dark Lord’s shadow made his school years… stressful.

I doubt Harry’s letter is entirely truthful. The boy might not hate me, but I am sure he is more hurt by last night than he lets on.

Perhaps I can watch his life from a distance, and eventually there will be a clear way in. A way to prove what he means to me, because I know words aren’t enough. Waiting around for him to seek me out isn’t enough. Actions will speak to him, even if they are from the shadows.

Even if I must be patient.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	12. Apprehensive

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Snape’s Diary: Monday, 10th August 1998]

This morning I visited Draco. I have never been friendly with the boy, but if I can hold an extended conversation with Granger (or Hermione, as I now must call her) then there is no reason I cannot forge a better relationship with the youngest Malfoy.

There was a time, after all, when I was a candidate for the role of godfather. Admittedly, I would have been a terrible godfather to Draco, given how my every waking moment was concerned with a different boy’s welfare. I am pleased that I at least managed to prevent Draco from killing Albus, but I did not do enough to guide him in his earlier years at Hogwarts.

It will take time, of course, for us to develop a true friendship. I am reluctant to visit the boy often as I covet my privacy, and frankly Draco and I do not always see eye to eye.

The Manor has seen better days. Redecorating is not Draco’s priority, and the elves can only do so much when their young master does not know how to instruct them… Living alone in that huge house is getting to him. I personally do not understand this since there is so much the boy can be doing with his time! He is fortunate to have escaped Azkaban (thanks to Harry’s intervention) and somehow his community service has been pushed back until after he graduates from Hogwarts (providing he is on his best behaviour during his final year).

September is not far away, so perhaps the boy will soon gain a new perspective on life. He has always excelled academically and if he can put the past behind him then a bright future surely beckons. (Not that I have ever succeeded at ignoring the past.)

I mistakenly mentioned to Draco that he might see me around Hogwarts this year. He wanted to know why, of course, so I told him about Minerva’s plan. His reaction was subdued, and I had to remind myself that he is no longer a child. Why should the prospect of a school competition excite him?

I think Harry will be excited, providing it does not reawaken unhappy memories of the Triwizard Tournament. He has his mother’s love of fun.

It was Draco who brought up Harry. It was difficult to avoid the subject, given how yesterday Kingsley and Harry were dancing all over every newspaper, and this morning it was Hermione, Miss Lovegood and Harry who took a spin on the Prophet’s front page. I was correct to predict that the wizarding world is by no means angry that Harry has thrown away his Wizengamot seats, although there is endless speculation as to why he chose Hermione and Miss Lovegood for his replacements. Draco made quite a distasteful joke about that, and I had to squash my impulse to defend Harry’s honour. To think that I thought my days of hiding might be behind me! Draco must not learn of my interest in Harry. That would be excruciating.

I think Draco’s need to gossip is fuelled by his temporary ban from Ministry functions and the like. (The idea is that he should be keeping his head down.) He even informed me that Hermione and Mr. Weasley are newly engaged. Apparently, Weasley proposed yesterday, which is surprising given that he must have been somewhat hung-over from the awards ceremony. The newspapers have not yet caught wind of the engagement, so I am unsure of who informed Draco. Then again, it would be wrong for a Malfoy not to be in the know.

Perhaps the excitement surrounding Weasley’s proposal was why Harry took so long to reply to my letter. No doubt the boy is ecstatic that his friends have found happiness together. Although I do wonder if he feels left out at all. I cannot help but feel vaguely anxious about how Harry will react to his new, relatively danger-free existence. What if he changes beyond recognition?

Who am I kidding? Harry will always find some form of mischief or adventure to keep him occupied. He is considerably wealthier, now, what with inheriting the full Potter and Black vaults and claiming his Order of Merlin. After finishing his education, he could do anything and go anywhere.

But what if that ‘anywhere’ is a place in which I do not fit?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part 1 and the last you’ll see of Snape’s Diary. The chapters for Part 2 will be *much* longer and follow Harry’s final year at Hogwarts with Snape lurking in the background like a loveable weirdo.
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me! I know there isn’t much to comment on yet, but reviews kick my lazy ass into gear.


	13. Beginning

Ron, Luna, Ginny and Hermione all had Nerd Duties this year, so the four of them had abandoned Harry and Neville as soon as they boarded the Hogwarts Express. Neville and Harry had an easy friendship, but Harry had been restless throughout the train ride to the castle. Even now, finally stepping inside the Great Hall, Harry couldn’t get a handle on his excitement.

Hogwarts would be different this year. There would be no bad guys. No evil plots. No mysterious goings-on. Harry would finally get to be normal.

Moving to one side so he wouldn’t be crushed by the oncoming crowd, he observed how the long tables in the Great Hall were gradually filling with chattering students. According to the grapevine, mostly everyone was returning to Hogwarts. As McGonagall had gratefully pointed out to Harry, this was largely due to the Golden Trio’s well-publicised plan to complete their schooling. Watching the bustle in the Great Hall gave Harry a sense of pride the like of which he had never experienced. Everyone in this room was safe, albeit scarred, looking forward to a year of learning and laughter, and many of them had fought tooth and nail for the privilege. Overwhelmed, he ducked his head and caught up with Neville.

When they reached a familiar head of bushy hair at the Gryffindor table, Neville and Harry shared a mischievous look and vaulted into the empty spaces either side of Hermione. Ignoring the Head Girl’s indignant spluttering, Harry shuffled to get comfortable on the bench and flashed a manic smile across the table at Ron and Ginny. Ron told him he looked like a loon. ‘Don’t care,’ Harry replied, feeling like he might burst into hysterical laughter if he didn’t get a grip. ‘Feel happy.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Ron grumped, although he too was smiling. ‘I’m starving and the new firsties are knobheads.’

‘Ron! They’re not that bad,’ admonished Hermione. With a fond look, she told Harry and Neville about the two, tiny boys who had somehow managed to knock over the trolley lady in their haste to get on the train. This reminded Harry of the Creevey brothers. Dennis was sitting further down the table, deep in conversation with a year-mate. That was good; Harry knew from experience that isolation only worsened grief.

‘Oi, Ron! ’Mione! Congrats! When’s the big day?’ Dean’s enthusiasm inspired the surrounding Gryffindors to shout their own well-wishes (and lewd jokes) at Harry’s blushing friends. The dramatic increase in noise somewhat squelched Harry’s giddiness. Turning away from his friends to hide his anxiety, he fixed his attention on the staff table while Ron commenced a slanging match with Seamus. Craning his neck, Harry noticed that a few new faces would be teaching them this year, but they all looked friendly enough; there wasn’t a pink bow in sight.

And then his eyes landed on Severus Snape.

What the fuck?

Shite, shite, shite. Snape had definitely said he wouldn’t be teaching this year… hadn’t he? But what other reason could the man have for sitting straight-backed and scowling next to Headmistress McGonagall?

Even from a distance, it was clear that Snape’s brow was furrowed in distaste as he surveyed the sea of students. Had the man changed his mind? That didn’t seem likely; Snape hated teaching. Had Harry misread Snape’s letter? That was also unlikely as he had re-read the damn thing about thirty-eight times. His brain shut off entirely as he stared, bewildered, at Snape’s sneering face which was now directed at the rowdy Ravenclaw table.

Unfortunately, Harry’s stupefaction meant he didn’t think to duck when Snape’s scowl unexpectedly turned his way. As he locked eyes with Harry, the professor’s scrunched-up face suddenly opened: his eyes went wide and his lips parted in alarm.

Harry turned back to his friends, heart hammering and shame writhing in his intestines. Nodding along to whatever Ron was now ranting about, he scrunched the cuffs of his sleeves between his clammy fingers. Obviously, Snape didn’t appreciate being gawked at. It turned out that even the Dungeon Bat could be startled. What had Harry been thinking? Jesus Christ and Merlin on a fucking Sphinx, he needed to get a grip.

So, what of it if Snape was still teaching them? The man had every right to be at Hogwarts. As much right as Harry.

Everyone was seated now, eagerly anticipating the Sorting of the new first-years. When Professor Sprout waddled in with the usual procession, Harry tried to pay attention; when the hat sang its song and called out ‘Gryffindor!’ at least twelve times, Harry just about remembered to clap and cheer at the right moments; when a small girl chose to sit nearby and openly gaped at Harry, he managed a reassuring smile. It was difficult though, and multiple times he lost track as the noises, faces and colours rushed around him. If his friends noticed his introspection, the sudden drop from his previous high, they didn’t say anything. After all, everyone got it, didn’t they? They’d survived a war. Even the hardiest of heroes suffered random bouts of melancholy. Confusion. Anger… What the hell was Snape doing here?

Harry was dumbstruck throughout the feast, somehow managing to shakily manipulate his cutlery and avoid Hermione’s piercing gaze. Most of McGonagall’s post-feast announcements went in one ear and out the other, and he only snapped out of his catatonia when a certain man’s name trickled into his consciousness. ‘… Professor Snape is no longer a teacher at this school,’ McGonagall explained, ‘but he is here as my guest. The same goes for Professor Grubbly-Plank. They will not be present in the castle often, but when they are here please treat them with the respect they deserve.’ Snape nodded in acknowledgement of McGonagall’s words and Grubbly-Plank offered the students a cheerful wave from her seat next to Hagrid.

‘Professors Snape and Grubbly-Plank,’ continued McGonagall as Harry’s heartrate picked up, ‘assisted by Madame Pomfrey, are to judge a new competition that will be taking place this year. You will receive further information about this in due course.’

Harry was stuck on the fact that Snape had volunteered to be a judge for a frivolous competition, so it surprised him that the sudden whispers dancing around the hall had nothing to do with Snape but were instead about the nature of the competition itself. Personally, he’d had enough of such things for a lifetime, but he did his best to listen and respond to Hermione’s muttered theorising and Ron’s gleeful murmur that the competition might cut into class-time. Harry wasn’t so optimistic. McGonagall wasn’t the sort of teacher to prioritise fun over education, and Harry doubted that seventh years would be allowed many distractions from their N.E.W.T.s.

‘Now,’ McGonagall’s sharp voice effortlessly cut through the whispers, ‘I must remind you that, despite the upcoming competition, and despite the facts that everyone is repeating the previous year and one year group is subsequently much larger than usual, this will in all other respects be an ordinary school year. From you, I expect self-discipline; I expect tolerance; I expect intellectual curiosity. If any of you are struggling in any way, I expect you to approach a member of staff. As I have already mentioned, any of you are welcome to speak to our new counsellors, or if you require a less formal chat then perhaps our new Head Girl or Head Boy.’ At this, Neville gave Hermione a friendly nudge. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Anthony Goldstein was clapped on the back by his friends.

‘You will not be turned away,’ insisted McGonagall, clearly determined to drive the message home, ‘no matter the issue you wish to discuss. Office hours for all staff are pinned on the common-room noticeboards. Those of you who have been allocated private living areas will need to ensure that you regularly check your house’s noticeboard just like every other student.’

Harry tried not to blush. Besides, McGonagall’s words implied he wasn’t the only student to have been granted access to private rooms. He wouldn’t have come back to Hogwarts if he couldn’t bring Teddy with him. Teddy had been Apparated to the rooms this morning by Winky and Kreacher, and Harry couldn’t wait to join them. Winky and Kreacher would be minding and entertaining Teddy when Harry attended his classes and meals or needed time to himself, but he already knew that he’d be spending most of his free time with his baby boy and hopefully giving him tours of the castle.

McGonagall appeared to be on the same wavelength as Harry, as she next announced: ‘I expect older students to assist first-years navigating the school. You will be pleased to hear that Professor Snape has helped me create a much-needed map of the castle and grounds, copies of which will be distributed with your timetables at breakfast tomorrow.’ The cheer that greeted this revelation was deafening, even making Harry grin. He supposed the castle’s security was tightening under McGonagall’s reign and lost first-years must be considered a hazard.


	14. Background

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's been a while... don't look at me like that :(

Severus was pleased that, nearly three weeks into the term, Draco was at last seeking his attention. But the boy’s timing left much to be desired. Severus had been running late as it was, but now he might as well give up on spying on the Quidditch trials.

When Harry wasn’t flying or with his friends, he was holed up in his private rooms. During his prowls around the castle, hidden by spells and shadows, Severus had been dismayed to learn that Harry didn’t spend much time in the library. The brat was instead loaning multiple N.E.W.T.-level books at once and taking them to his rooms which were located on a lower landing of Gryffindor tower. This was presumably so Harry could spend time with the Lupin child while studying.

Severus understood that Teddy now shared Harry’s surname, but acknowledging this made him feel… funny. Indeed, his emotions were proving difficult to control. He’d all but jumped at the chance to help with the upcoming competition, so soon after assuring Minerva that he no longer wished to be bound by routine. In his defence, he’d been brooding over Harry’s letter and anxious about his first meeting with Draco when he’d suffered the lapse in judgement.

Despite his status as Minerva’s ‘guest’ he wasn’t supposed to be sneaking around the castle when the competition hadn’t yet begun. (He was supposed to be in the middle of a research project at Spinner’s End.) Thankfully, although Minerva knew some of what he felt for Harry, apart from the occasional jibe she turned a blind eye to his dubious comings and goings.

It wasn’t like Minerva wasn’t benefiting from his random visits. Students feared him, despite his improved reputation, so the chance he might swoop down from the rafters was keeping the more cowardly brats in line. Mind you, he wasn’t bothering himself with small infractions: he was ignoring the abandoned maps that littered the hallways.

Draco, on the other hand, knew how to push his buttons. It was the tail-end of the students’ final break of the day, just before dinner, and mostly everyone was watching the Quidditch trials or congregating in the courtyards. Draco had cornered Severus on his way out and launched into a rant about Miss Parkinson and Mr Goyle, bemoaning that these Slytherin ‘outcasts’ were sticking to him like Spellotape (but he had ironically given them the slip) and tainting his new image as a Head Prefect.

Draco was not incorrect, given that Pansy Parkinson was getting the cold shoulder from most students (in lieu of hexes). All Heads of House had stern words with their students after the Welcome Feast, and again the next morning, threatening expulsion to anyone who deliberately caused trouble with other students this year. The definition of said ‘trouble’ was vague, which according to Minerva would increase compliance.

It had taken a second war, but Hogwarts had adopted a zero-tolerance stance on bullying. Staff, ghosts, portraits and Prefects had been assigned to a rota for patrolling wherever students typically congregated between classes. Already, a rumour was circulating that one student had been suspended for teasing another about the state of their footwear. Severus doubted the truth of this but thought it wise not to question Minerva.

Besides, as overboard as the Headmistress’ campaign sounded, he knew it was a way for her to make amends for the way the Marauders had treated Severus all those years ago. It would be interesting to see if the new ‘rules’ improved things at Hogwarts, or if students exploded at each other later in the year.

Anyway, if house pride still meant anything to him, Draco should be pleased that Goyle and Parkinson were getting a second chance. Severus was grateful that Minerva was now, if a little hypocritically, sticking up for the misguided snakes in Slytherin house. The students had been informed that anyone who actively fought with the Dark Lord had already been punished by the Ministry, by way of community service or time in Azkaban. Anyone who had not been punished was, plain and simple, not a criminal. When students like Pansy had spoken against Harry, they had acted out of fear.

Draco, still yammering, was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. To be fair, the boy managed to look presentable while slouching: uniform impeccable as always and blonde hair spelled into a fashionable quiff. True to Severus’ prediction, concentrating on academia had done wonders for Draco’s disposition. Moaning aside, the boy seemed more cheerful and eager to socialise. He didn’t seem to be brooding over Crabbe; it was likely that grieving Crabbe had been a key component of Draco’s funk during the summer.

Noisy celebration sounded from the direction of the pitch, getting louder as Draco continued to grumble. A crowd of scarlet-robed students stampeded down the corridor, and Severus tensed as he recognised messy black hair flanked by red-heads. The team’s Captain was flushed, his green eyes sparkling, while he chatted with the two Weasleys. Of course, only Harry could be on such friendly terms with a recent ex-girlfriend. Might he still have feelings for the girl?

Harry bounced down the hallway, laughing with his new teammates who for the most part towered over him, and didn’t so much as glance at Severus or Draco.

In the Great Hall at dinner, while Severus tried to eat his misery, Mr Longbottom caused a small commotion by running to Harry and handing over two small furballs. Severus had been trying not to look in Harry’s direction, as the boy was freshly showered and unaware of his own charms, but this was too strange an occurrence to ignore.

Harry rose from his seat, the furballs cradled in his arms, listening to Longbottom explain the meaning of the… kittens?

The surrounding Gryffindors were laughing and pointing at Harry, but the boy himself appeared to be frowning. Just as Severus was wondering if he should intervene, Longbottom and Harry approached the staff table.

With a tight grip on his cutlery and his eyes focused on Harry’s arms, Severus nearly missed Longbottom’s explanation to the Headmistress. More interesting was the way Harry’s right thumb rubbed soothing circles in the orange kitten’s fur. Severus already knew that Harry was inclined to protect others, but hearing the boy repeat a barely audible ‘There, there, you’re okay,’ to the mewing, chocolate-coloured kitten was a revelation. It was fortunate Harry was so distracted, as Severus had no idea what his own face was doing.

The Headmistress was furious, otherwise she might have shown more propriety. As it was, she transformed into her feline form, jumped onto the table (neatly dodging a bowl of mash), and loudly meowed at Hermione and Mr Weasley. According to Longbottom, after the Quidditch trials the couple had yielded to a dare from Mr Finnigan (who was conspicuously absent) to drink an unlabelled Weasley product. During Hermione’s birthday bash, which had taken place in their common room the preceding evening, Finnigan had insisted the loved-up couple were ‘losing their edge’. Whether Hermione and Mr Weasley had ever possessed ‘edge’ was up for debate, but clearly the teasing had hit home.

Kitten-Hermione hid her face in Harry’s hand. Severus was reminded of one of his more productive snoops around the grounds when he had witnessed the Golden Trio playing with Hermione’s ginger cat and a huge rabbit, of all things. The teenagers had held baby Teddy near the animals and the child had squealed in delight. It was ridiculous that a cat, rabbit and tiny baby got on as they did: it was like a second Golden Trio… A Silver Trio.

Severus hadn’t had time to work out to whom the overweight rabbit belonged, and he hadn’t seen it since. Such were the mysteries of Harry’s life: mysteries Severus hoped to one day master.

While Cat-Minerva hissed at the kittens, presumably about the dangers of drinking unknown substances, Harry continued to quietly coo and Longbottom tried to look like he wasn’t laughing. Severus wondered if the upcoming competition would provoke similar merriment from Harry. The boy often appeared cheerful, but Severus was worried about the odd moments when Harry resisted others’ amusement and seemed to fall deep inside himself.


End file.
